


Tomorrow Can Wait

by orochiis



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Snow, This is a political drama, you get the gist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28243017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orochiis/pseuds/orochiis
Summary: It's been a long time coming - Felix and Byleth reunite just in time for the New Year's Festival.Written for Felileth Server Secret Santa 2020 for Nine!
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17
Collections: Felileth Secret Santa 2020





	Tomorrow Can Wait

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlchemistNine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlchemistNine/gifts).



> imagine being me and trying to write fluff and then it turns into a political drama. These two are so repressed im sorry this is what you get.

Faerghus is a cold country. As Archbishop, Byleth doesn’t get to see much of it, holed up in the more temperate Garreg Mach for most of the year. There are a few months where she gets to go out and about – to the former Alliance, absorbed into the Holy Kingdom, or to the old Empire, now a territory ultimately under the control of Dimitri as king, but with a devolved government, currently under the leadership of Prime Minister Ferdinand von Aegir.

Byleth got away from the monastery for a few weeks last year to visit Gautier, the coldest region in Faerghus. That was for Sylvain and Ingrid’s wedding, an event which ended with a hilariously inebriated Margrave Gautier being dragged away by his new wife, apologising to all their guests. That was the last time she was in Faerghus, Byleth laments, and the last time she saw Felix.

Diplomatic trips are the only excuse they have to see each other. He’s been holed up in Fraldarius, according to his letters. He hasn’t been to Garreg Mach, hasn’t had the time when he’s trying to restore his territory. Both of them understand that work comes first – it’s a tricky time for the country, and they’re both vital in making the country steady. But it’s been two years from the war ended, and ten months from the last time she got to kiss Felix.

Usually when Seteth appears in the doorway of her office, Byleth feels her stomach drop. It’s usually a reprimand for her behaviour – she’s not the archbishop that Rhea was. She hates the vestments, sheds her cloak and headdress at any opportunity, can be found in the training grounds in her long dress, hem dirty, Sword of the Creator in her hand. She never learns either that Seteth has eyes everywhere.

Now, Seteth is smiling, which makes Byleth even more suspicious. How can he grin at her like that when he’s inevitably going to deliver some terrible news? The Ethereal Moon is the busiest time for the monastery, what with the anniversary, the ball, and Saint Cichol’s day all falling within a few weeks. Seteth repeatedly says he doesn’t need to celebrate his birthday, but often he finds himself ambushed by Byleth and Flayn for dinner at the very least.

“I have good news, Archbishop.”  
  
“How many times do I have to tell you not to address me formally?” Byleth sighs, motioning for Seteth to come in. He closes the door behind him as she sets down her quill.

“You know it’s only good manners when there are people about, Byleth. That corridor is always overflowing with students and monks alike.” He looks as tired as she feels, settling down in the seat in front of her desk.

“What’s your great news, then?”  
  
“Dimitri has requested your presence in Fhirdiad for the traditional Faerghus New Year’s celebrations.”  
  
“I didn’t do that last year,” Byleth points out. “Can’t be _that_ traditional.”  
  
“I can assure you that it is. You will be the guest of honour. You will leave on the twenty-eighth, to arrive in Fhirdiad on the thirtieth. Then you’ll leave on the fifth, to arrive back here on the seventh to begin the new term.”  
  
“Nearly a week in Fhirdiad? How does my schedule allow this?”  
  
“I pulled some strings,” Seteth says, a twinkle in his eye. “I know you miss your old students, and I know you have some people who are important to you in Faerghus.”  
  
“Thanks,” Byleth says, one of her rare genuine smiles passing across her face. “I mean it. This means a lot to me.”

Seteth smiles back at her as he leaves the room, back into the hubbub of the corridor outside. Byleth can hear him attempting to corral the students, and she can’t help but laugh. Seteth has done so much for her over the years, and she’s not sure she can actually think of a good way to show him that she appreciates him. Maybe she’ll do a good sermon for the Saint Cichol’s day service – if she gets Flayn involved, she’s sure that they’ll be able to bring Seteth to tears.

But the first thing on her to do list is a letter to Felix. She didn’t have any plans to write to him this week, instead waiting on a response to her last letter. But this cannot wait – all her other tasks are set to one side for a minute while she writes to her beloved, miles away in Fraldarius.

At least when letters leave Garreg Mach with the destination of Fraldarius scrawled on the envelope, everyone knows that they’re from the archbishop, and could only be headed for one specific place in Fraldarius – the House itself. Her stamp gives it away too – a gold shiny wax seal on the back, that she insisted she didn’t want to use because it was Rhea’s, and now Rhea isn’t around it feels weird to use it.

But Seteth had insisted on it – it had been within the church of Seiros for centuries, and should remain there. Felix had commented on it in a letter one time – how odd it was that Byleth used something so elaborate. She had come to be fond of it though, after a while.

She dons her cape and headdress to go downstairs, to deliver the letter to the messenger. It’s something that she does often, and yet the reaction of the students is often the same – there goes the Archbishop, what’s she doing out of her chambers? Byleth supposes they were used to stories of Rhea, who stayed in the Audience Chamber all day, only ever coming out when it was really required of her. The messenger gives her a smile when she hands the letter across, and her thoughts of Rhea disappear.

The rest of the month passes in a blur – Byleth judges the White Heron Cup, attends the ball and allows Alois to trail her around the dancefloor in something that she supposes was supposed to be a dance. She gives the Saint Cichol Day sermon and giggles with Flayn when they catch Seteth wiping his eyes. The three of them celebrate with dinner after, just the three of them, Byleth’s new family.

She rises early on the twenty-eighth, leaving the monastery before anyone else can see her. It’s just her and two attendants, who are only there at Seteth’s insistence. She’s perfectly capable of riding to Fhirdiad alone, and he knows that. But she’s archbishop now, not just professor, and requires security for just in case. Seteth seems to forget how easily she can slip into fighting – it’s second nature to her at this point.

The three of them ride into Fhirdiad two days later to much fanfare from those gathered in the streets. Byleth is aware this is a state visit, but hadn’t been made aware that people would be looking for her. Her presence seems to excite the people of Fhirdiad, and she really does have to wonder _why_.

At least the path to the castle is more or less a straight line, Byleth thinks. She didn’t receive a response from Felix before she left – is he going to be here? Does he even know that she’s going to be here? She supposes that it isn’t long until she’ll find out.

Dimitri waits on the steps of the castle, having presumably heard the commotion from the streets. He holds a hand out to help her off her horse, which is led away by one of his attendants. Her own attendants disappear, and she very much hopes that she doesn’t see them again until they are to make the journey home.

Home is a very foreign concept to Byleth. For many years, she didn’t have a home, nothing permanent. Garreg Mach is her home, but she wishes it wasn’t. She wishes she could move elsewhere, and she has a very specific destination in mind.

“Everything okay, Archbishop?” Dimitri asks.

“Of course. Tired from the journey, and longing for a bath.” This is true, but what’s wrong is that her body is tense with anticipation, having spent the last month wondering if she’ll get to see Felix.

“Would you like to skip formal introductions and head straight to your chambers? I can make those arrangements, if you’d like,” Dimitri offers. Byleth doesn’t hesitate in making her decision.

“Yes, I think that would be best. It wouldn’t be considered proper for me to turn up looking like this,” she says, gesturing to her lack of makeup and hair that’s just bordering on greasy.

“Of course. I’ll let everyone know.” He gestures to another attendant, who is at her side in a moment to show her to her room.

“Thank you, Dimitri.”

She’s been in these rooms before – a whole set, just for her. She’s more used to a tent in a field somewhere, or if she’s lucky, a barracks with a load of other mercenaries. Byleth hates her room at the monastery – the bed is too big, too soft, has far too many adornments to be actually comfortable. And the rooms in Fhirdiad are almost worse – a sitting room, a bedroom, and a bathroom, all of considerable size, right at the end of a long empty corridor where she won’t otherwise be disturbed.

Her bags are already there, set in a pile neatly outside her room. She just about has the energy to lift them into the room, dumping them unceremoniously by the sofas of the sitting room. She rifles through one, lifting out her soaps and shampoo and her casual robes, setting her headdress onto the table. She makes a beeline for the bathroom, locking the door behind her and waiting patiently as she draws a bath for herself.

The water is hot, but soothes her muscles, tired after two days on a horse. The warm water is calming against the cool air of Fhirdiad too, and Byleth is glad that she listened to Seteth’s insistent complaining about packing warmer clothes. She dips her head under the water, relishing in the feeling of it gently moving across her scalp. She washes her hair, and decides that the bath is getting a little too cold – much faster than it would were she still in Garreg Mach.

She puts her hair into a towel, squeezing the water out of it. She dresses quickly, the cold air chilling her wet skin. Underwear comes first, then an underdress reaching to just below her knees, and finally the wool dress that was Seteth’s idea. It is warm, she’ll give him that, but it’s also slightly itchy.

Byleth unlocks the bathroom door, and heads back out into the sitting room. Lounging on her sofa, looking like he belongs there, is Duke Fraldarius. He has her headdress in his hands, running his fingers over the engraved patterns.

“Felix,” she breathes, and when he turns to her, he’s smiling – as rare for him as it is for her.

“Byleth.”  
  
“Should you really be breaking into the Archbishop’s private chambers?”  
  
“Probably not,” Felix admits. “But I just wanted to see you before everyone else.”

“I wasn’t sure I would see you,” Byleth says, settling on the sofa beside him.

“I didn’t write back to you because I wasn’t sure I would make it. There’s been business in Fraldarius that’s taken a lot of work. But I made it this afternoon, just in time to see you.”  
  
He leans forward to kiss her, just a simple peck on the lips. They know what decorum allows, and it’s not much more than that. Being Archbishop and Duke means they’re in the public light, and while their relationship is widely known, so is the fact that they’re not yet engaged. Even then, it’ll take a while to prepare what will probably the biggest noble wedding in recent times before it’s acceptable for them to really be alone like this.

“We should head downstairs,” Felix murmurs, close enough for her to feel the hotness of his breath against her skin.

“I have to do my hair and makeup. I’ll just be a few minutes.”  
  
Felix nods, and draws back. Byleth heads back into the bathroom, makeup bag in hand, and re-emerges as the Archbishop that she’s supposed to present as. She snatches her headdress back from Felix, slotting it into her hair. Felix offers her his arm, and together, they head downstairs to meet with their friends.

Ingrid and Sylvain are there, sitting by the fire. Byleth’s eyes immediately go to Ingrid’s stomach, noticing the slight swelling associated with early pregnancy. Ingrid notices, and nods, and rolls her eyes. Sylvain’s eyebrows furrow at her expression, before she swats at him and he starts to laugh.

Dimitri sits in an armchair, with Mercedes sitting on the arm, Dedue standing behind them. They wave to Byleth on the way in. Annette and Ashe are there too, Annette sitting on the floor beside Ingrid’s feet, talking animatedly to her friends.

“Archbishop!” She says, scrambling to her feet.  
  
“You don’t need to address me as such,” Byleth says, holding her hand up. “I thought you were making introductions?”  
  
“At dinner,” Dimitri soothes. “For now, you can relax. I know you had a long journey today.”

Byleth nods, and settles into the empty seat, Felix beside her. He holds her hand tightly – again, one of the few public displays of affection that they can allow themselves. Really, Byleth would prefer to spend time with just Felix, catching up on the ten months that they haven’t seen each other. But it’s nice to see her friends again too.

As promised, Byleth meets a number of dignitaries over dinner – those whose children weren’t in her class at the Officer’s Academy, and parents of those who were that she had managed not to bump into yet. It had been over two years since her inauguration, and she was sure they were at the event, but there was much official process to be done, and not much partying for the woman herself.

At dinner, Byleth is separated from Felix, forced to sit at the head of the table with Dimitri on her right and some of the new faces lining the left side of the table. No matter how interesting their conversation, the Archbishop’s eyes cast down the table, making eye contact with her swordsman, who looks as keen as she is to be there. Maybe they can make an escape, but it’s hard to convey that when half of the table’s occupants are staring at her. As dessert is passed out, Dimitri leans close to her.

“I can entertain them after dinner, if you have other plans. You’ll see them at the ball anyway,” he mutters, low enough for only her to hear while the others are distracted by their own conversation.

“That would be wonderful,” Byleth says, patting Dimitri gently on the arm. She glances down the table, catches Felix’s eye with a swish of green hair. He looks up, she beams at him. He smiles back, like they’re the only two in the room.

“What has the Archbishop smiling so?” Count Rowe wonders. Byleth is good at masking her revulsion at the fact that he’s speaking to her – he seems like a man she doesn’t particularly want to know.

“Nothing. Do not concern yourself.”  
  
“Not concern, your grace. Just glad to see you capable of emotion!”  
  
“Pardon me?” Byleth says, shooting Count Rowe a look filled with venom.

“Lady Rhea was a kind and serene woman. Lady Byleth, you are a lot more… well, I assume we can take you at face value. You are not the kindest church official I have ever met.”  
  
“If you take everyone you meet at face value, Count Rowe, I can assure you that you’ll get yourself into trouble sooner or later. Were you not allied with the Empire during the war? I think you may need to be careful where you tread. Besides, both Edelgard and Lady Rhea had huge issues in both personality and beliefs, and it’s only me you have a problem with. Is that because of my facial expressions? That’s a very shallow outlook you have.”  
  
“Archbishop!” Count Rowe exclaims, his face reddening. Beside her, Dimitri conveniently covers his mouth with a napkin.

“Count Rowe, she’s a young woman,” the dignitary from House Kleiman says. Byleth grips her dessert spoon with enough force to bend it. “I’m sure she’s just ready for motherhood, hence the outbursts.”  
  
“House Kleiman is on thin ice, isn’t it, Your Majesty?” Byleth asks, looking at the dignitary and not at Dimitri. “With the people from Duscur gathering in their former lands instead of spreading out… why, it won’t be too many years before Duscur could become its own territory, and you would be out of a job.”  
  
“Your Grace, it is hardly appropriate behaviour of the Archbishop to be making empty threats,” Count Rowe says. Beside him, Baron Dominic nods gravely. From the other end of the table, Byleth can hear Annette squeak.

“It is also not _appropriate_ to tell the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros that she is incapable of doing her job because she is not as expressive as you would like her to be. I am not your _wife_ , Count Rowe, and I would kindly ask you to stop speaking.”

Further down the table, Byleth catches Felix’s eye, and she shakes her head subtly. He looks like he’s itching for a fight, but things are bad enough as it is. Fortunately, it is just Count Rowe that she has to deal with – Baroness Kleiman is a decent woman, and does listen to what she has to say. It is just her dignitaries that are stupid, and Byleth knows that they would all shut up if they saw what she could do with a sword.

“I am going to retire for the night,” she says to Dimitri. “If you need me, please knock on my door.”

Dimitri nods, and Byleth leaves the table, her dessert left half-finished behind her. She can hear the scraping of other chairs behind her as she leaves, and she doesn’t need to look around to guess who else got out of their seat. For Mercedes, it was solidarity with Byleth. For Dedue, it was the implication of the massacre that got to him once again. And for Felix, it was for an entirely different reason.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” He asks, catching up with her in the corridor.

“It’s cold,” she protests. He’s from Faerghus, he knows how to deal with the cold. She’s beginning to get chilly now, the sun having long set and its warmth having disappeared from the room.

“Get your cloak,” he says with a shrug.

“Felix, it’s snowing,” she points out. But Felix looks like he wants to go out for some reason, and it’s true that she’s rarely experienced snow in her life. “Fine. Wait here, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Thankfully, she doesn’t bump into anyone on her way to her room. There are two cloaks hanging up – her usual one, dusty with being trailed around the monastery, and her fanciest ceremonial one. After tonight’s dinner, she’s almost tempted to wear the fancy one for her snowy walk with Felix, but Seteth’s voice echoes in her head, and she goes for the usual one instead.

He’s still waiting by the grandfather clock downstairs, his arms folded and a scowl on his face. The scowl softens when he sees her – cloak wrapped around her; headdress abandoned. He offers her his arm, and the two of them venture out into the night.

Byleth relishes in the way the show crunches under her shoes. She wishes she had her usual boots on, but long gone are the days of armoured boots and coats she stole from her father. She even misses her Sothis outfit, as called it – the Enlightened One as Rhea named it. It’s coat or sash or wrap or whatever it was supposed to be was warmer than this wool dress and mostly decorative cloak.

“Cold?” Felix laughs.

“It’s very mean of you to drag me outside in this,” Byleth complains. “This is practically a blizzard!”  
  
“Typical Faerghan winter, then.”  
  
“I can’t believe you put up with this every year. I think I’d simply die.”  
  
“You just stay inside,” Felix shrugs.  
  
“Then why are we outside?”  
  
“I had something I wanted to ask, and I didn’t want anyone to hear us.”  
He stops, now that they’re in the middle of the lawn. The snow only seems to get heavier – even though Felix is two feet in front of her she can barely see him, using her arm as a shield to cover her face from stinging with the cold. Felix holds her other hand, and is smiling at her in a way she’s not wholly used to.

“I’ve missed you,” he says plainly. “It’s absolute torture living in Fraldarius without being able to see you at all, without even knowing when I’ll be able to see you. And I can only stay here until New Years, not after. Please… ugh, Byleth, this is embarrassing.”  
  
He drops her hand, sticks his gloves hands into his pockets. From the left pocket he draws out a small object, which Byleth can’t quite see, obscured due to the snow. But she’s left in no doubt what’s in Felix’s hand when he drops to one knee, sinking into three inches of fresh snow but uncaring about the cold that’s permeating his body.

“Byleth, will you marry me? I want us to be together forever.” His face is so earnest, probably the only time in his life that he’s been completely honest about anything. Even when he confessed he had feelings for her, he didn’t tell the whole truth about the extent of those feelings.

“Of course I will,” she whispers, her voice disappearing into the wind. She holds her hand out – Felix nearly drops the ring into the snow in his excitement, but he manages to get it slid onto her finger before she helps pull him to his feet.

“I’m so glad you said yes,” he mumbles, pulling her in for a kiss. Their lips meet only briefly before Byleth pulls away, her face scrunching up at how cold it is.

“Can we please go inside?”  
  
“Fine. You’d better get used to this, though.”

They trek back up the lawn and into the house, Byleth careful to disguise her left hand, covering it with her right as they walk up the stairs to her chambers. They pass Dimitri on the way, who nods knowingly. Sylvain winks at Felix, and Ingrid smiles too, and it doesn’t take Byleth long to come to the conclusion that everyone else was in on this plan.

Byleth unlocks the door to her chambers with a shaky hand, and is sure to glance behind her to make sure no eyes are on them that she would rather not be. The coast is clear, she invites Felix into her room, locking the door behind them. The fire has been lit by a servant at some point in the last twenty minutes, but Byleth is grateful for that as she scuttles towards it, leaning against the edge of the sofa, holding her hands out in front of it.

Felix leans beside her, keen to dry out his trousers from the wetness of the snow. He’s easily distracted though, now that he can really see the ring on Byleth’s finger. The stone in the middle glitters a warm green in the firelight, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Byleth smiling warmly at it.

“I actually have a ring for you,” she mumbles, almost embarrassed to admit that she had the same idea as him. “I just didn’t know when I wanted to give it to you, or if you’d even want to take it off me. I know we’d flaunted the idea of marriage a few times in letters but… well, I wasn’t sure if that was just talk.”

“I’d love a ring, if you have one,” he says quietly.

Byleth goes to her bag, still not brought into her bedroom, and fishes out a book. From the middle of the book she pulls out a leather pouch. When she tips the pouch upside down, a ring falls out into her palm. She passes it across to Felix.

“I’m not sure if it’ll fit you. My… my father left it to me. It was my mother’s ring. He told me to give it to someone special to me. And… that’s you, Felix.”

He slips the ring onto his finger, marvelling at how it fits despite being made for a woman. That’s nothing to complain about, not when he gets to have a ring that means so much to his future wife. It feels strange to think that and not have to worry about what Byleth thinks about it – it’ll happen now, definitely.

Felix leans in to kiss Byleth, and this time, she lets him. His hand, still cool, cups her cheek as his lips move across hers in a way that is a lot less familiar than either of them would like. It’s hard to sneak kisses when you’re as busy as they are, always in the public eye. But they’ll get used to it – if not now, in the many years that they’ll come to share together.

There’s a line that should not be crossed, both of them know this. But there’s nothing stopping them from sharing a bed together, in the most innocent sense of the word. Felix turns his back while Byleth changes into her night clothes, and she does the same for him out of respect. They slide under the covers, into each other’s arms, with only the excuse of the cold Faerghus winter on their side.

“I love you,” Byleth mumbles in his ear, on the verge of falling asleep.

“And I you,” Felix assures her.

There’s no one to see them share another kiss, for Byleth to rest her head on Felix’s chest and for him to run his hand through her hair. Tomorrow, when they go downstairs, and everyone inevitably spots rings that weren’t there the day before they’ll have to explain to everyone else. But until then, their time is theirs, and tomorrow can wait.


End file.
